Mortadello

OR, THE ANGEL OF VENICE 5 LORENZO. She is the one bright star on Adriatic foam. ALESSANDRO. She wrecks the stalwart spar, but floats the seaman home. LORENZO. She is the rainbow shown in Venice’ cloudy sky. ALESSANDRO. She is the juicy bone for angels to suck dry. LORENZO. She is the compass, she is the loadstone of the State. ALESSANDRO. She is the one-two-three when Hebrews Cal- culate. LORENZO. She is the serene saint whose prayers are pure perfume. The soul without attaint, the bud, the beeless bloom ! LUCREZIA. Indeed, you are too sharp, dear Sandro ! ZELINA. Wicked man ! ALESSANDRO. She earns the crown and harp ! ZELINA. I am a courtesan ; And this I tell you sir, that every fool of love In Venice looks to her as to Our Lady above. Would she were not thus vowed ; as Mortadello’s bride She would bring poor and proud to fight on Freedom’s side. ALESSANDRO. Listen ; in all good faith, I gladly grant you much. Not prone to scoff, and scathe the scutcheon with a smutch. She owes the supreme debt, a soul as pure as fair, Cobwebs no finer, jet no blacker than her hair, Gray clouds no grayer, wells no deeper than her eyes, Blue skies no gayer, bells no merrier, psaltries No holier than her laugh, most suave and sleek and slim, Her body, the pure graff of sylph and seraphim, Her mind a beryl-stone all faery, fleckless, flawless ; Compared with her I own St. Thomas lewd and lawless ;